Harry Potter and the Wizard's Sacrifice
by kenziescott54
Summary: Over a century ago, a little boy landed on the doorstep of a perfectly normal man and woman, but under strange circumstances. This is an AU based on the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Written for the last stage of the Triwizard Tournament. May continue, may leave it at a oneshot.
**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

"What would a cat be doing _reading a map?"_

It was a clear, sunny Tuesday morning. Mrs. Petunia Dursley, a short, plump woman with reddish cheeks and brown hair smoothed into a small bun at the the back of her head, stood in the middle of the drawing room, staring at her husband.

"I don't know," said Mr. Vernon Dursley, a tall, thin man with a worried-looking expression and a thick mustache. "I don't know, my dear, but rest assured, _I saw it._ "

Mrs. Dursley harrumphed.

"Cats don't read, you silly man. Are you feeling quite well?" She stepped around a chair and put a hand over her husband's forehead, smiling incredulously. "Your temperature is quite normal, but I must say you're worrying me with this nonsense. A _cat reading?_ "

Mr. Dursley looked worried, too. "My dear - I hate to mention this to you - but cats reading sounds like something that -"

Mrs. Dursley's smile faded, and she lowered her hand. "Don't, Vernon."

"But Petunia, my dear -"

"Don't mention Lily to me," said Mrs. Dursley, firmly. "I've told you before, I don't wish to discuss my sister any longer." But a telltale line had slipped into her face, and her eyes looked clouded.

Mr. Dursley saw the line and the cloud, but he said nothing. He knew enough about Petunia's relationship with her sister, Lily Potter, to know that it was a sore subject, and that it was better to leave it alone.

"Well, my dear," he said, "I'm off to the bank. Tell Dud I love him."

"Tell him yourself when you get home," said Mrs. Dursley. "Goodbye, my dear."

"Goodbye, Petunia," he said, giving her a kiss.

He put on his coat and left the drawing room, descended the stairs, and left the house. As he passed the garden, Mr. Dursley stared hard into a small patch of tulips. During his early morning walk in the garden, he could've sworn he'd seen a cat sitting there, reading a map, which was what he'd been trying to explain to his wife. But now there was no sign of either cat or map. He drew his hand over his forehead, frowning, and hurried for the stables.

* * *

"People dressed strangely? My dear, do calm down a minute! Do you realize how absurd you sound?" Mrs. Dursley asked worriedly, putting her hand on top of Mr. Dursley's.

It was evening. They were sitting at one end of the long dinner table together, but Mr. Dursley's roast beef, even though it was quite excellent, was untouched. Their son of one year, Dudley, was eating his dinner in the nursery with his nanny, and as she was occupied in feeding him and keeping him quiet, Mr. Dursley felt quite free in confiding in his wife.

"They were wearing some sort of...costumes," he babbled, wiping sweat off of his forehead. "Long robes that swept the ground, in fantastic colors. And horrible pointed hats."

"If they looked like they were in costume," said Mrs. Dursley comfortingly, an amused smile on her face, "then likely they _were_ in costume. They were playacting, I'm sure, my dear."

" _And_ ," continued Mr. Dursley, "There were owls, Petunia. _Owls._ They were everywhere I looked! Three times on my ride to town, an owl swooped over my horse's head and spooked him terribly, and I had some difficulty in keeping him from running away altogether."

Mrs. Dursley looked considerably less amused. "Owls, did you say?"

"Yes! Owls! And when I was riding into the gate, I could have sworn I saw that cat from this morning, sitting on the ground watching me."

"Really?" Mrs. Dursley murmured.

"And, Petunia," added Mr. Dursley, as if he hadn't heard her, "I heard a whisper in the street. I'd left my horse in the town stable, and I was nearly to the bank, except I stopped by the door. 'The Potters?' someone was saying in a low voice to someone else. 'Are you sure it was them?' 'Yes, yes, it was,' says the other person, in an equally low voice. 'And their son…' but then they noticed me listening and stopped talking.

Mrs. Dursley blanched and drew her hand away from her husband's.

"The _Potters_? Do you think -?"

"That's exactly what I think, Petunia. Something is going on in that world of theirs, and they're heavily involved in it."

"I didn't know they had a son," said Mrs. Dursley after a moment. "I didn't know that, Vernon."

He reached for her hand this time.

"I'm sorry, Petunia, my dear."

* * *

The next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were awakened by an extraordinarily loud scream.

Mrs. Dursley immediately scrambled for a robe. "Dudley!" she gasped. "My baby!" Mr. Dursley rushed into their adjoining sitting room and unlocked his desk drawer, pulling out a pistol. As his wife rushed down the hall to Dudley's room, he descended the stairs, pistol held out in front of him, to investigate the cause of the scream. He had to go down two flights of stairs in order to reach the front door.

When he got to the door, which was wide open, all he saw was the maid, half sitting on the floor. She was crouched over what looked like a small bundle of blankets.

"What is it?" he almost shouted. "What on earth's the matter, Margaret?"

"Oh, Mr. Dursley, sir!" she gasped, looking up at him. "Oh, it's a baby!"

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, the maid, the butler, the nanny, and the stable boy had all slept so soundly the night before that they did not see or hear anything that went on outside of their house.

If they had, they might have seen the cat that had so unsettled Mr. Dursley reappear outside their gate. They would also have seen her sit up, then, impossibly, transform from a small cat into a woman. But they wouldn't have believed their eyes, because of course, that would have been impossible.

They would have seen this woman, who was so heavily cloaked that you couldn't see her face if it had been full daylight, pace up and down the street, muttering, "Where _are_ you, Professor? Hurry up!" or some variation of it, over and over again. She did this for nearly an hour before another sound was heard on the road.

It was the sound of a galloping horse, or something like it; but no horse was to be seen. There was, however, an extraordinarily large man in a cloak coming down the street in a very strange fashion. He was seated, but not on anything that you could see, and seemed to be floating along the street; if the Dursleys had seen him they might have thought that he was riding an invisible horse, except that they knew that sort of thing was impossible.

"There you are," said the woman in relief, throwing back her hood. She was quite young, with thick black hair dark eyes. "What took you so long? And why are you riding a _thestral_?"

"It was the only thing I could find," panted the man, sliding off the back of his invisible steed. "I was in a hurry. Dumbledore was there when I arrived, and I almost did not find the boy before he did."

"But do you have him?" she asked, peering under his cloak.

"Yes, I do," said the man, producing a small bundle from under his arm. Inside it was a little boy, fast asleep. A small, jagged scar appeared on his forehead, standing out clearly in the moonlight.

"And did Dumbledore follow you?"

"No. He didn't even know I was there, Minerva."

The woman nodded, looking relieved. "We've done it, Professor Hagrid," she said softly. "We saved Harry Potter."

"For now," said the man, looking down on the peaceful face of the little boy. "For now. As soon as Dumbledore finds out where he is -"

"This is the last place he'd look," said Minerva. "He was the one who encouraged Lily to shun her sister all those years ago, when she first started coming to Hogwarts. Lily hasn't spoken to Petunia in years, although Petunia has tried to contact her multiple times. She and her husband have only a very vague idea of what goes on in our world."

"It's quite sad," said Professor Hagrid soberly.

"It is," agreed Minerva, fervently. "I've been watching this family for two days, and they're kind people, Professor. Harry will be in good hands here. If we can keep him safe until he starts coming to Hogwarts, we will be able to protect him even then."

"It'll be hard," agreed Professor Hagrid, "but we'll do it. We'll keep Dumbledore away from him at all costs, even if he _is_ Headmaster." He pulled a thin stick out of his pocket, brandished it at the iron gate, and whispered, " _Alohomora!"_ The gate swung open silently, and the two proceeded down the stone walkway.

They set the sleeping boy down on the front step, being careful not to wake him as they did. "They have a son," Minerva said softly. "He'll have someone to grow up with." She lingered by the step, kneeling next to the baby.

Professor Hagrid's large hand closed on her shoulder. "We'd better get back, before Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts and wonders where we are."

Minerva nodded, running her finger over the child's face. "Good luck, Harry Potter," she whispered. "The greatest wizard in the world, Voldemort, died to protect you. We'll do whatever we have to to keep you safe as long as we live."

The little boy slept on, unable to hear her. He didn't know that he was one of the most important children alive; he didn't know that his parents had been in league with Albus Dumbledore, one of the most evil wizards that ever lived, that his father James had been Dumbledore's right hand man; he did not know that Peter Pettigrew, a friend of the Potters' whose conscience smote him at the right time, had finally informed the secret resistance led by Voldemort, one of the strongest wizards to walk the earth, that the Potters were Dumbledore's strongest followers; and he didn't know that Peter had been killed for his betrayal.

He didn't know that, all over the Wizarding World, the very existence of which he would be blissfully unaware for the next ten years, was secretly mourning the death of Voldemort, their greatest hope against Dumbledore, and that that death was due to the selflessness of the great wizard, who had died to protect him, because his parents would have killed him rather than give him over to the resistance.

He did not know all these things, and he would not know any of them for a long time. He would sleep until the morning, when he would be awakened by the maid's scream; and from that point onward, his home and his life would be secure, at least for a little while.

But not forever, because Harry Potter was destined for greatness, and he would not be hidden away from the Wizarding World for long. The first Wizarding War of all time was brewing, and when it finally broke out, he was destined to be in the middle of it. Not even Minerva and Professor Hagrid knew the extent of what Harry was meant to do. They had never even heard of the prophecy that caused Peter Pettigrew to realize that the Potters were going to kill their child. That secret had died with him, but it would resurface in the coming years.

But for now, Harry Potter, a tiny child with a mysterious scar on his forehead, simply slept on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle's house, not knowing or caring about a single thing.

* * *

 **Prompt** : Retell a chapter as if it occurred in a different era. I hate rewriting, so I tried to make this my own and not borrow too much from the original story.

I'm *considering* stretching this out and 'rewriting' the whole book. I've got some ideas. I'd like to know what you think. Please let me know ;)

-Kenzie


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